like a breath of fresh air
by backseat compromises
Summary: Matthew Williams is somewhat of a delinquent literature teacher. Alfred F. Jones is a good natured college student. Slowly, bit by bit, they fall in love...


Matthew doesn't expect to fall in love when he walks into the classroom one lazy Wednesday afternoon.

Everyone looks the same to him. Bored faces, glazed eyes, a hand underneath a desk, text messaging. White shirt, navy blue, red and yellow striped tie, navy blue skirt or trousers. Sunlight slowly wafting through the windows, worksheets strewn all over the ground. He wonders why he's here, thinking back, he supposes that the only job available for him was that of a teacher after what he studied in university. He stares at the class, his students stare back, he scrawls his name on the whiteboard and turns around and there he is, in front of him, by the window, blue eyes shining, looking genuinely interested. He gulps, butterflies erupt in his stomach and suddenly he feels _nervous_ as he starts the lesson talking about anything but Shakespeare.

He learns that his name is Alfred. _Alfred_. The name tastes sweet on his tongue, he makes a mental note to bring some poems by Alfred Tennyson to class some time (he doesn't really know why, he supposes that maybe, just maybe, it will interest him but he doesn't dare to hope for anything).

The next lesson, the next after the next, the next after the next after the next after the next, he catches Alfred staring at him in class, looking at him. He wonders if it's his dressing - perhaps the studded leather belt and ripped skinny jeans were a little too much - he tries to tweak his dressing a little, but well, it isn't as if he can help it. For the longest time, he figured that it is the only way to ensure that he isn't invisible. He remembers screaming for help, only to have Ivan remind him that no one will hear him because he melts into the background as if he's a part of it. If there's anything, maybe a change in clothing will help, something, anything, that would make him stand out will change things. So he supposes it isn't really his fault, he doesn't really know how Alfred managed to see his red boxers inside a black hipster when he bent over but oh, the way Alfred's cheeks flush red, the way he splutters, apologising when it happens is so endearing that it hurts and he doesn't even understand why it hurts so bad.

The way Alfred laughs, at things like how he explains Titania telling her fairies to 'skip hence' because she has forsworn Oberon's bed and company basically translates to her telling her underlings to ignore him because she's not sleeping with him any more, makes him want to hear more of the rich, bubbly sound. So he does his best to make his lessons interesting, he cracks jokes, they act out bits of Shakespeare here and there with Alfred offering to play Bottom, making the class (him included) laugh with his antics.

Alfred's smile reminds him of Katushya. He wonders how two people can be so alike as he lights a cigarette, bringing it to his lips, inhaling for a moment before remembering Alfred's words. He stubs out and laughs sardonically before digging into his pockets for the packet of cigarettes. He dumps them into a rubbish bin nearby as he thinks of how he found a steaming hot cup of coffee on his desk in the staff room, with a note that said smoking was bad for health and that being a caffeine addict was probably better. When he went to class, he noticed how Alfred avoided his gaze, an adorable blush gracing his cheeks and immediately, he knew who left the cup of coffee. He grabs his lighter from his pocket next and with a sigh, he throws it away as well as he thinks of the boy with the brilliant smile in his class. He laughs, this time, it is out of amusement. Maybe, just maybe, quitting may be worth it this time round.

He doesn't try to hide his piercings although his hair covers his ears most of the time, but somehow Alfred notices and asks about them, but they aren't the usual type of questions that he gets. He asks if they hurt and he stares at him with an odd expression on his face, speechless. He tells him no, of course not, feeling strangely bothered as Alfred apologises and changes the topic immediately to poems, specifically, Alfred Tennyson's and strangely, he feels glad that Alfred remembers them.

It isn't long before he finds himself falling, falling and falling; no wait, no, he has already fallen for Alfred, somewhere between the first touch of his hand (he remembers, one Tuesday after class, Alfred's touch was warm, just like his smile) and the first time Alfred offers to help him carry the huge stack of notes he prepared for the class (he _insisted_ on helping him despite his protests), leading to post lesson bantering about King Lear, Julius Caesar, Huckleberry Finn, Elizabeth Bennett, Siddhartha, Anna Karenina as if they were close friends. It soon segues into more than just banter about characters from different books - Alfred starts to open up to him, little by little - and he feels as if for the first time in his life, he has learnt the true meaning of what it means to have a _friend_.

When Alfred sees him in the hallway, sometimes they linger a little longer than usual, exchanging more than just smiles. Sometimes when Alfred sees him at the cafeteria, he sits with him instead of his friends and he feels the unbearable urge to tell him to call him 'Matthew' instead of 'Sir'. Sometimes he wonders what's it like to brush his fingers against Alfred's cheek and sometimes, he wonders if Alfred will lean closer when they speak to one another but most of all, he wonders what it will be like to have Alfred's lips pressing against his... And he wonders if Alfred will even be attracted to him. He has always known about his sexuality and perhaps, it was one of the reasons why Ivan chose him.

Some nights, he remembers Ivan and he wakes up screaming. He remembers those icy cold fingertips, tracing intricate patterns over his neck, his torso and his thighs. He remembers how his foster family threw him out, Ivan accusing him of raping Katushya and brainwashing her and Katushya desperately trying to reassure him, telling him that things would be alright, even though the both of them knew that fighting against Ivan was an impossible task. He was Ivan's victim - his first, maybe? - and he had the tables turned on him just because he tried to fight back. He remembers, he remembers and he remembers and he screams and he looks for something, anything to take his mind of it and Alfred, bright, sunny smile on his face, radiating warmth, appears unbidden in his mind. He laughs shakily, wondering why. He doesn't have the answers and for the first time in a long time, he's afraid.

He tries to fight it, but each time Alfred lifts his eyes shyly to look at him, each time his fingers accidentally brush against his knuckles, each time he smiles _just for him_, he finds himself walking further down the road of no return.

To him, there's nothing better than curling up on the sofa with a good book when it rains heavily, so when the doorbell rings, his eyebrow twitches slightly in irritation. What he doesn't expect is seeing Alfred at his door, hair dishevelled, clothes thoroughly soaked. Although he doubts Alfred's explanation for showing up at his doorstep at close to midnight (he wasn't gullible enough to believe that Alfred couldn't find his way back after a party and decided to see if he could crash at his place because it seemed near enough) - he has no idea how Alfred managed to find him in the first place - he agrees to let him stay the night anyway. He makes him a cup of coffee, earning a wry smile from him and he sits across him on the sofa.

At first, they sit in silence. Alfred stares at him sullenly, to which he raises an eyebrow and finally the words come tumbling out. He nods and listens, he listens and he listens and suddenly he finds himself looking into the unfathomable depths of Alfred's clear blue eyes.

Their lips touch, hesitantly at first, then it gives way to something more. He tries to hold back, he really does, but Alfred's hands find their way around his waist, going lower, inch by inch. By the time he realises what is going on, he's in his bedroom, clothes have been shed, his spectacles thrown aside as Alfred looks up at him, unsure of what to do.

He soon finds that Alfred's a quick learner and he isn't surprised, the way he licks, the way he touches, the way he kisses is as if he's a goddamn natural and it feels good, it feels so damn _good_ that he doesn't want it to stop even though every part of him is telling him to stop, _stop just fucking stop it already_. He forces his eyes open so he can look at Alfred, it's Alfred, Alfred, _Alfred_, he's not going to hurt him, everything will be fine. Alfred kisses him again, going lower and when he takes him into his mouth, he arches up into the feral heat of his mouth. He teaches him how to prepare and he licks, swirling his tongue at his entrance before he manages to find a bottle of lube. He uncaps it, slathering it all over Alfred and guides him to his entrance.

Alfred enters him slowly, filling him completely and he screams as he plants bruising kisses all over his neck, withdrawing and filling him again. He moans, begging Alfred to speed up, clawing at his back until he's pounding hard and fast into him, hitting that sweet spot inside him each time. The pleasure makes him forget the pain he once felt with Ivan but at the same time, he cannot help but feel as if nothing has changed... But Alfred keeps moaning his name, repeating it over and over again as he thrusts into him, breath ragged and he supposes that maybe, just maybe, things will be alright. He surrenders to the moment, hips jerking forward, losing himself and before long, they go over the edge, spiralling into the darkness together.

In the morning he finds himself alone in his bed; the world is spinning about him, he doesn't know where his spectacles are, he doesn't know where Alfred is and he doesn't know if he will see him again.

But what he does know is that he's in too deep, there's no turning back. The tears fall even though he tries to hold them back and he buries his head in the pillow and he wonders what he's trying to pull when he hears footsteps. He freezes and turns around slowly, afraid of what he'll see but there, in the doorway, is the image of a god with wheat coloured hair, sun kissed skin and eyes the colour of the sky. He can hardly believe his eyes when the image walks towards him, opening his mouth to speak. He doesn't want to hear it, he knows he's hallucinating, he wants to cover his ears but at the same time-

"Matthew?"

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**a/n: **cross posted on the kink meme. i sincerely hope this doesn't happen to me when I start my term as a teaching intern next year, man I'll be teaching kids my age O_O in any case... **reviews are love and would be greatly appreciated.**


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